


A Thousand Different Things I Should've Said and Done

by JaskierOfRivia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: It was a long-held belief of the Continent that Witchers didn’t have soulmarks, and therefore no soulmates. One they were more than happy to perpetuate. But Jaskier is human, and he has one- a large wolf with golden eyes.But Geralt, being Geralt, is keeping something from Jaskier. Something big. Something that could change everything.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 290





	A Thousand Different Things I Should've Said and Done

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writing Corner discord bingo event #1, for the prompt 'love confessions'

It was a long-held belief of the Continent that Witchers didn’t have soulmates. No one, living or dead, had ever seen a Witcher’s soulmark before. If anyone had ever asked, the Witcher in question just said that Witchers didn’t have soulmates, that the Trials they went through burnt the soulmarks away and destroyed their connection to their soulmate. The pain must have been unimaginable, complete agony and _awful_ , but in amongst the pain of the rest of the Trials, it would have been nothing. They would’ve been unable to distinguish between the pain of their soulmark being burned away, or the pain of the Trials changing their bodies.

Geralt of Rivia was no different. He remembered the soulmark from when he was a child, even had a vague memory of asking his mother what it meant. Visenna had been very vague, saying that almost everybody had one and that they were all different. At Geralt’s very young age, he wasn’t old enough to recognise what the soulmark actually was, especially since he couldn’t even see part of it. Again he’d asked his mother about it, and again she had been vague, telling him he’d find out more when he was older and grown.

In hindsight, Geralt should’ve realised something was up when he’d first asked Visenna that. That he should have realised that she planned on abandoning him to become some _thing_ that didn’t have a soulmark or a soulmate. But then again, Geralt had been _eight_ when his mother had abandoned him for Vesemir to find. He wasn’t yet old enough to connect the dots.

Sometimes, Geralt would touch his body where his soulmark used to be visible, splaying his hands over the skin that was now only marred with scars, and not the brilliant black markings that indicated his soulmate. He wondered what it would look like, with scars running through it. Would the scars mar the black design, or would the scars be no more than raised skin under Geralt’s soulmark? Geralt knew it was ridiculous to dwell on it, but dwell on it he did. Just one of the many ways he differed from his Witcher brothers. Lambert and Eskel had never thought much about their soulmarks, never really cared or missed the chance of finding their soulmates. Eskel long thought no one would love him anyway because of his facial scars (which was just really fucking sad, whenever anyone thought about it), and Lambert was just too angry at the world in general to even care about having a soulmark or not (although both Geralt and Eskel thought his ‘friendship’ with Aiden indicated that maybe Lambert cared a little bit more than he let on).

Jaskier had started asking Geralt about his soulmark not long after they’d met. Geralt had just grunted noncommittally and tried to move on, but Jaskier being Jaskier, he had asked Geralt about it repeatedly.

“Come on, it can’t be _that_ bad,” he’d insisted, as Geralt tried to ignore him once again. “Is it in an embarrassing spot? Is it ugly? Is your soulmate someone you don’t like? Someone evil? You can tell me, Geralt. I’m your _friend_.”

Rather than tell Jaskier he wasn’t his friend, as he had literally every other time he’d asked, Geralt had finally snapped. “Nobody wants to be a Witcher’s soulmate,” he’d growled at Jaskier, sounding more wolfish than Jaskier had ever heard him. Jaskier had shrunk away from Geralt, which had just let Geralt to believe he’d finally scared him off. But no, there was no scent of fear coming from Jaskier; at least none directed towards Geralt. Instead, Jaskier had just been _sad_.

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” Jaskier had said, his voice small, but trying his absolute damnedest to sound at least a little bit comforting.

“If there is, they better damn well stay away from me, for their own good,” Geralt had spat, stalking away, and that was the end of _that_ discussion.

Well, at least it _was_ , until the first time Jaskier had seen Geralt naked. It had started off perfectly innocent (at least on Jaskier’s part), with Geralt having sustained a massive on his midriff from the claws of a wyvern. Geralt should never have trusted the words of that smarmy-looking alderman, when he’d said there had only been one wyvern. Of _course_ there had been an entire fucking nest, and of _course_ Geralt had realised that they were all circling him at the exact same moment that Jaskier hadn’t listened and had followed him once again. Geralt had jumped in to protect Jaskier from being wyvern food, and… well. Geralt’s fresh wound and future scar had been his reward. The location of the wound had meant that Geralt couldn’t treat it on his own, and it was deep enough that it would need stitches. Jaskier being Jaskier had _insisted_ on helping, and they’d argued about it all the way back to the inn.

“I’m fine, Jaskier,” Geralt had said, which was his usual argument in situations like these. The blood seeping from Geralt’s side and through his tunic said otherwise, however.

“Geralt, even _I_ can see the blood coming through your clothes. The black isn’t hiding anything.” Jaskier pouted, Geralt scowled, and the Witcher tried another tactic.

“It will heal on its own. I’ve had far, far worse, and I’ve been perfectly fine. The wound will pull itself back together without stitches. I’ll be _fine_ , bard.”

“You’ve said so yourself, your larger wounds heal better if you have stitches, and with less scarring,” Jaskier had reminded him. “And if you could reach this wound, you’d be putting stitches in it. Right?” No answer from Geralt; he had been looking far ahead, studiously ignoring Jaskier, almost marching towards the inn. “ _Geralt_?”

“Yes, bard, I would be stitching my wound back together,” Geralt had snarled, but rather than being scared, Jaskier was triumphant. “If I let you do this, will you shut up? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve had to sew my own clothes before, back when people were tossing me rotten food and bread instead of coins. It can’t be _that_ much different. And yes, if you let me stitch your wound, I would be quiet. About this, at least. If you don’t, I’ll be going on and on about it for _days_.”

“Fine. But if you fuck this up, you’re never doing this again,” Geralt had warned.

“Fair enough.”

Geralt wished he’d thought of it then; that Jaskier would see him, see _all of him_ , and realise what was missing. But the wound did fucking _hurt_ , and they did heal better and scar less when they were stitched together, as Jaskier had said. That was all that mattered to Geralt, in that moment.

Both Geralt and Jaskier had agreed that Geralt would bathe first. He was covered in It wasn’t until Geralt had stripped completely naked, and had braced his hands on the edge of the bath to climb in, that Jaskier had seen it. Or, well, not seen it.

Geralt didn’t even realise that Jaskier had noticed anything, at first. The bard had let out a muted, startled gasp, and it hadn’t been until Geralt had turned around again that he noticed that Jaskier was staring at him, mouth hanging open slightly, half reaching out with one hand as if he wanted to confirm what he’d seen by touch as well.

“Jaskier?” Geralt had asked, concerned. Had Jaskier seen some wound that Geralt hadn’t noticed, one that was bleeding profusely or poisoned or cursed? “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“You... you don’t have a soulmark,” Jaskier said, his voice small. He had sounded almost... _sad._

“Oh.” Geralt had turned away from Jaskier, sinking into the bath to block Jaskier’s view of his body, before continuing to speak. “No, I don’t. No Witchers do. The Trials... they cover them up, I guess you would say.”

“Cover them up?”

“Yeah.” Geralt washed the muck and guts and blood off himself, if only to ensure he didn’t have to look at Jaskier. “I had one when I was born, of course, but that’s a distraction that Witchers don’t need. I don’t even remember what it looks like.”

 _That was a lie._ Geralt had committed his soulmark to memory long ago, but Jaskier didn’t need to know _that._ It didn’t matter, anyway.

“That just makes me sad,” Jaskier had said. He _sounded_ it, too. He had been hovering, as if he didn’t know whether to go to Geralt, or to leave to gather supplies and perhaps process what he’d just discovered. “Everyone deserves a soulmate. Everyone. Even the worst people do. Even royalty. I know you saw the soulmarks on Calanthe and Eist at the banquet.”

Jaskier has eventually settled on moving behind Geralt, grabbing a brush and beginning to wash and detangle his hair. Geralt couldn’t help but relax into the touch, as soft and gentle as Jaskier could be. He was very practiced with his fingers, after all.

Geralt had just grunted. “ _Witchers_ don’t need soulmates. They would be a distraction from our jobs, our work. We’d be too focused on protecting them, making sure they were safe, to the point we’d neglect our own safety.” Jaskier had looked like he wanted to say something else, perhaps to protest some more, but Geralt had continued to speak. “I told you before, I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me. I meant it. Not only would me having a soulmate put me in more danger, it would put _them_ in danger. And I _cannot_ have that on my conscience. Now can we drop it?”

There had been a growling, almost threatening tone in Geralt’s voice, an awful scowl on his face, and Jaskier for once listened to Geralt. Instead of speaking, he had continued washing Geralt’s hair, washed and treated his wounds (rather effectively, for his first time), and the matter had been dropped.

For a while, anyway.

***

Geralt could remember the exact moment he’d seen Jaskier’s soulmark for the first time. His doublet and chemise had been ripped as they’d fled through the trees from bandits, trying to draw them out into the open so it was easier for Geralt to take them down. Luckily Jaskier hadn’t been injured at all, and Geralt only had a few minor cuts and bruises.

Geralt returned to Jaskier, having collected several coins off the bandits’ bodies (the only thing they were good for, really). The bard was huffing, rubbing furiously at his doublet, trying desperately to remove the dirt stains.

“It’s ripped, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. “I can fix it, but you’ll need to take it off. And the chemise, too.”

“It’s fine, Geralt. I’ll just-”

“ _Jaskier_ , just do it. Gods, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Jaskier hesitated, as if he was trying to to wrack his brain frantically for an excuse not to undress. Finding none, he sighed, turning his back to Geralt and removing his clothes with shaking hands.

It wasn’t long until Geralt realised exactly why Jaskier didn’t want him to see this. No sooner had Jaskier removed his chemise than Geralt saw it. Jaskier’s soulmark, mostly in greyscale, black and white, except for the golden eyes of the wolf with its mouth open, ready to strike.

“Jaskier...” Geralt breathed. He knew what it meant. _Who_ it meant. There was no other possibility.

Jaskier made a move as if he was going to cover himself up, before realising it was futile. He raised his head slowly, shakily, almost afraid to look Geralt in the eye.

“As soon as I saw your medallion, knew which Witcher school you were from and that nickname for you came into my head, I knew what it meant,” Jaskier explained. “I knew exactly what my soulmark represents, who my soulmate is. But Geralt, it doesn’t- it doesn’t have to mean what you think it means. It doesn’t have to mean _that._ ”

“I- wait, what?” Geralt had to tear his eyes away from Jaskier’s soulmark, to look into the bard’s eyes. He was almost pleading, desperate, as if he was begging Geralt to understand something. “I know you don’t have a choice of who your soulmate is, Jaskier. That you’re born with it, and you’re drawn to them in some way. It’s alright. I’m not angry, or anything.”

“No, it’s not _that_ ,” Jaskier insisted. Geralt just stared at him, confused. “I just meant that soulmates don’t have to be romantic. They can be platonic. A very strong, very close friendship. That’s all this is, all it _has_ to be. I promise.”

Geralt just blinked, grunting, as if trying to clear his head before speaking. As if he was afraid of what he would say, if he didn’t think it through first. “Of course, Jaskier. It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of _course_ I am,” Geralt insisted, and he was. He’d never felt any _pressure_ from Jaskier, like he needed to be with him or be his friend. It felt natural, normal. Geralt could’ve told Jaskier to fuck off any number of times over the years (and he had, once, before apologising profusely), could’ve left him behind anywhere, made it impossible for him to follow. And yet he hadn’t. Because Jaskier was his _friend_ , and he was Jaskier’s, and Geralt knew that was by choice, no matter what any soulmark said. Or didn’t say.

“Good. Good.” Jaskier beamed at him, and Geralt knew he’d said the right thing. He hated to admit it to himself, but Jaskier’s happiness meant so very much to him. He’d do anything to make Jaskier happy, even to his own detriment. And that _scared_ Geralt.

“Can I hug you?” Jaskier asked suddenly, jolting Geralt out of his thoughts.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I noticed you don’t like touch that much, and you don’t hug people, like at _all_ , or at least very rarely, so I figured I should ask. Didn’t want to startle or anger you,” Jaskier explained.

“Oh. Well, I guess you can hug me, then. If you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Excellent!” And before Geralt could say anything else, Jaskier was hugging him.

Geralt had no idea what he expected being hugged by Jaskier to feel like, but he hadn’t expected it to feel so fucking _nice_. It was like being enveloped in some kind of comforting warmth, a blanket, like Jaskier was protecting Geralt from the whole world and anything that would ever hurt him.

Geralt’s arms went around Jaskier automatically, holding him close. He never wanted to let Jaskier go. One of his arms brushed Jaskier’s soulmark, and Geralt could almost _feel_ the sparks that flew through Jaskier’s body, where his skin burned hot at Geralt’s touch. Jaskier didn’t react any more than his body instinctually did though, and for that, Geralt was grateful.

“I’m so grateful for you, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, from where he’d squashed his face against Geralt’s shoulder. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” Geralt replied. “I’m grateful for you as well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pulled away enough to look Geralt in the eye. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I know I don’t say it enough, and I’m sorry. Words are- words are hard for me. But I am grateful for you, Jaskier, and I should show it more. And this-” Geralt gestured at Jaskier’s soulmark, not wanting to touch it again. Not wanting to send those sparks through Jaskier’s body again, like he knew happened when someone touched the soulmark that was meant for them. “This doesn’t change a thing. Not if you don’t want it to.”

“Thank you, Geralt. Thank you.”

***

And for the longest time, nothing _did_ change. At least externally, anyway. Jaskier’s behaviour towards Geralt didn’t change at all. He was just… well, Jaskier. Treating Geralt with a kindness and a gentleness that Geralt still didn’t feel that he deserved. Geralt on the other hand, _did_ start treating Jaskier differently. He tried to be kinder to Jaskier, show his appreciation, do things for him, demonstrate that he really did mean a lot to Geralt.

Internally, something _did_ feel different for Geralt. He felt- well, he almost didn’t know how to feel. It was certainly a way he’d never felt before, in his almost one hundred years of life. He felt sad, almost… like he was yearning, longing for something he knew he could never have. Something that wasn’t his to take. Something that he had no right to have, or even want. It was frustrating and it _hurt_ , so much that Geralt wanted to claw his own heart out to make it stop. But he could put up with it. He could. He had to.

So things continued as normal, except for the fact that Geralt knew that Jaskier had a giant wolf that represented _him_ tattooed on his skin. Geralt continued to traipse across the Continent taking contracts, and Jaskier followed along, keeping Geralt company and collecting material for his songs.

When Geralt accepted a contract for a leshen, Jaskier knew he _had_ to tag along. He’d heard stories from Geralt about how strong they were, how terrifyingly magnificent they were, how many Witchers had fallen at their hands. Geralt had also told Jaskier a tale he’d been told about a ferocious battle Vesemir had had with a leshen, where he’d earned several scars and had even nearly lost an arm. Geralt himself had faced a few before, but they’d been young and immature, making them far easier fights than a mature leshen. It would be a tough fight, very tough, but Jaskier knew that Geralt could handle it. And he’d promised to tell Jaskier all about the fight afterwards.

The one condition on Jaskier tagging along and not been left at the nearest village for safety was that he waited at the campsite, close enough to hear and be able to help Geralt afterwards if necessary, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be in any danger if the fight got out of hand.

“If I’m not back, you go straight to the village, get yourself out of danger, and you call for Yennefer. Don’t look for me, don’t wait for me. Understand?” Geralt had warned.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, I know it’s hard. I know you want to wait for me. I know your heart _hurts_ when we’re apart and you feel I’m in danger. But it will put me in even more danger if you’re nearby, because I’ll be too busy worrying about you and making sure you’ll safe, and I won’t be able to focus on the leshen. I need you to be safe, so I can focus on the leshen and my own safety.

“Fine. Fine. I don’t like it, but I get it. I’ll wait, but I know you’ll be fine. You’ll come back.”

So Jaskier waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. He tried straining his ears to listen for Geralt, but he heard nothing. Clearly Geralt had drawn the leshen far away enough that Jaskier wouldn’t be in danger, but it terrified him even more. He had no idea how the fight was going. He had no idea if Geralt was even alive.

Jaskier was about to completely ignore Geralt’s advice and go off looking for him, when he heard twigs snapping in the distance. He tensed, grabbing for the dagger that Geralt had once given him, until he heard the stumbling footsteps, loud, uneven, struggling.

Human.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called out, hand still on his dagger. Instead of an answer, Jaskier heard a pained growl, but it was a growl he recognised. One that was familiar, that normally warmed his heart, rather than scaring him. It was definitely Geralt alright, but he didn’t sound okay. He sounded pained. Hurt. The fight clearly hadn’t gone as well as Geralt thought.

Jaskier immediately leapt to his feet, but he didn’t hurry to find Geralt. Instead he furiously rifled through Geralt’s bags, digging for his potions. Right as he found the ones he was looking for, Geralt staggered into their camp.

Jaskier whipped around, and his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Geralt. The Witcher was still under the effects of his potions, his skin marble white and popping with black veins, his eyes like black pits. But that was something that Jaskier had seen many, many times before, and it scared him even less now than it did the first time (which was not at all). It was the wound that scared Jaskier. Four large, deep claw marks, deep across Geralt’s chest, seeping blood fast. Too fast.

“Shit, Geralt, you need to lie down,” Jaskier said, hurrying to Geralt’s side and helping him to lie down on a waiting bedroll.

“I- I need-” Geralt stammered out, but Jaskier hushed him with a finger to his lips.

“You need your potions, I know. I’ve already got them for you,” Jaskier assured him. “I remember what you need, and which one is which.”

“Good. Good…” Geralt’s grip on Jaskier lessened, and Jaskier began to panic.

“Geralt! Geralt, stay with me here!”

“It will… it will help me heal,” Geralt murmured. “I’m not dying. Just… potions…”

“Of course.” Quick as lightning, Jaskier pulled the toppers from the potion bottles, pouring them down Geralt’s throat so he didn’t have to exert himself too much. The Witcher groaned, and mumbled, and settled, closing his eyes and drifting into unconsciousness. Whether Geralt was asleep, or he’d passed out, or he was also doing his meditating thing, Jaskier couldn’t tell. But he was alive, and he was healing, and that’s what mattered.

As Geralt rested and recovered, Jaskier very slowly and carefully removed the Witcher’s tunic, to allow his wounds to breathe and heal better. Jaskier’s eyes may have been deceiving him, but he was sure Geralt’s wound was starting to heal already. The white began to seep from his skin, as it faded to its normal colour. As Jaskier watched however, something else began to happen, to the skin on Geralt’s side.

The normally unblemished skin (except for faded scars) was slowly being covering with black shading and lines, slowly forming an image. An image of a lute, surrounded by small, beautiful flowers. Buttercups, the literal meaning of Jaskier’s name. It was a soulmark.

Geralt had a soulmark.

Geralt’s healing wound completely out of his mind now, Jaskier shook the Witcher awake hurriedly. “Geralt! _Geralt!”_

Geralt opened his eyes blearily, searching around for Jaskier’s face before he finally found him, eyes narrowing at the emotion-charged look on Jaskier’s face. “Jaskier? What’s wrong? Is there a monster? Is my wound-”

“No, it’s- you have…” Jaskier trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. Instead he gestured to Geralt’s soulmark. The Witcher didn’t even have to look down to realise what he meant.

“Ah.” Geralt slowly, carefully, pushed himself into a seated position. Luckily he had healed enough that the wound hand stopped bleeding, although it still pulled painfully against his skin. “I- I can explain. I didn’t- _all_ Witchers don’t- hide these for no reason. I meant every word I said. Me having a soulmate and accepting my soulmate puts them in enough danger as it is, but if people, my enemies find out who it is, they’ll target them and they- they will-”

Before thinking about it, Jaskier reached out and squeezed Geralt’s hand, as tightly as he dared. “I get it. I don’t necessarily _like_ it, but I get it.” Jaskier knew he’d said the right thing when Geralt relaxed some, squeezing Jaskier’s hand back. He was mad, and frustrated, and sad, and all sorts of other emotions, but he knew how hard this was for Geralt to even say. He had to let him get it out.

“I need to be sure,” Jaskier said. “Is it about me? Does it represent me?”

Geralt nodded. “I suspected when we first met, because of the lute, but when you told me that Jaskier literally means _buttercup_ , I knew. That’s why I tried to get you to stop following me at first, tried to get you to leave me alone. I couldn’t put you in any danger. I just- I couldn’t risk it. But I just couldn’t keep away from you. I tried, but I just _couldn’t_.” Geralt sounded desperate, like he was _begging_ Jaskier to understand. And he understood. He did. Geralt was being self-sacrificial and noble, the _bastard_.

“How do you hide it?” Jaskier said, curiosity temporarily taking over. “It appeared when you were unconscious, so I’m assuming it has something to do with you and your energy?”

Geralt nodded carefully. “It’s a charm, or a spell, I guess, part of the Trials, but it mostly feeds off our own energy to fuel it. When we don’t have enough left, the soulmark becomes visible. There’s a potion we can take in that situation to keep it hidden, but I was too worried about you, I guess, and it was the last thing on my mind. There’s a way to permanently remove it the spell, too, but it requires a mage’s help. I’m yet to hear of a Witcher that’s done that, though.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier asked, his voice gentle yet demanding. “Why didn’t you at least tell me that you had a hidden soulmark? That it represented me? You know I wouldn’t have told anyone. And you know I would’ve understood. And you know my soulmark is- mine is _you_.” Unbidden, Jaskier’s hand went to his side, where he knew his wolf soulmark was hidden beneath his clothes.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you,” Geralt admitted. “My own benefit, I guess.”

“Because you didn’t was to break my heart again?” Jaskier guessed. He didn’t tell Geralt he meant the mountain, but Geralt knew. Neither of them had to mention it to know.

“Because I was _selfish_ , Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice rising. “Because it puts you in danger. Because if you accept this, everything, even if it ends badly… you’ll live just as long as a Witcher would, and we don’t even know how long that _is._ You know, that whole ‘keeping soulmates together forever’ thing. Because it means more to me than it does to you, and if I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t turn tail and run. I can’t lose you again, Jaskier. I _can’t_.”

Geralt started shaking and he closed his eyes, unable to look Jaskier in the eye. Jaskier _ached_ to comfort him, to tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to know.

“How can it mean more to you than me?” Jaskier asked.

“You once said that soulmates aren’t always romantic. That they can be platonic, like it is for you. But that’s not the case for me.”

“Geralt…”

“I love you, Jaskier. I _love_ you, so much so I feel like I’ll burn alive with the pain of it,” Geralt said. He’d never sounded so emotional, he knew it. He’d never _been_ so emotional, he knew. He literally _ached_ with it. In that moment, he knew exactly what heartache felt like.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, and Geralt could hear the pain and _regret_ in his voice. This was it. This was goodbye. “Oh, you beautiful, wonderful, lovely man. I’ve been a fool.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. There was nothing but sincerity and _warmth_ in Jaskier’s face, and for the first time, Geralt felt the tiniest flicker of hope come to life in his heart. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been a fool,” Jaskier repeated. “I’ve been a fool because when I told you that, that soulmates can be platonic, I was trying to reassure _you_.”

Jaskier reached out, cupping Geralt’s face with one hand. Geralt leaned into the touch immediately, heavily, letting out a pained whine. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I told you it was platonic because I didn’t want you to send me away.”

Geralt stared into Jaskier’s eyes, and he saw nothing but sincerity there. “Does that mean… does that mean you want this? You and me?”

Jaskier hand went to Geralt’s soulmark slowly, carefully, hovering over it before touching it lightly. Geralt gasped at the sparks that flew through his body at the touch. Gods, it felt like every single nerve in Geralt’s body had come _alive_. He’d never felt so much, all at once. He’d never felt so _good_.

“I want this,” Jaskier promised, and as if to demonstrate how much he meant it, Jaskier leant in and kissed Geralt.

The kiss was gentle, and soft, Jaskier careful not to jostle Geralt too much and reopen his wound. But it was beautiful, and it was _them_ , and it was exactly what Geralt needed. “I love you,” Jaskier said again, as if to be sure Geralt believed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Geralt whispered. He reached out to touch somewhere, anywhere, perhaps on his soulmark, but he winced when the movement pulled on his wound.

“You need to rest some more, Geralt,” Jaskier told him. “Rest. We can talk about this when you’re healed. We can _do_ more when you’re healed.” Jaskier winked at Geralt, almost tantalisingly, and this disarmed Geralt enough for him to allow Jaskier to lie him down again.

“Will you… will you lie with me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. “Will you hold me? I just- now that I know I can _have_ this, when it’s so new, I-”

“Hush, Geralt, it’s okay. I get it, believe me.” Immediately, Jaskier lay down beside Geralt, as close as he dared without touching his wound or his soulmark, putting an arm around Geralt. “Now sleep. Your soulmate will be here when you wake.”

As Geralt drifted off, feeling safer and warmer than ever before, he vowed one thing to himself. When he was healed, and he and Jaskier had talked, he was going to find Yennefer, and ask her to remove the spell that kept his soulmark hidden. Permanently.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness I loved writing this so much! This is a universe I may definitely come back to later, maybe looking at what happened AFTER the confession. Who knows?
> 
> Come hang with me on twitter [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia)


End file.
